


How to Know if He's Really Into You

by mrsatterthwaite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Attempt at Humor, M/M, Multi, alana/will friendship, awkward!will, best friend!beverly, copious pop culture references, introducing the s'mores, neurotic!will, passing mentions of rape (in a case), scheming!alana, will/beverly friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsatterthwaite/pseuds/mrsatterthwaite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(fill for a prompt at the hannibal kinkmeme. originally under the working title "escape from #chilltown")</p><p>Will’s nostrils flare. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Alana.”</p><p>“I’m not psychoanalyzing you! I’ve seen you use Beverly’s account to Facebook stalk Hannibal when you’re proctoring exams!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Know if He's Really Into You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt: "Because 'feisty tongue' without (or even with) the context of cannibalism sounds REALLY suggestive, and Chilton takes it take way. Queue awkward advances that Hannibal absolutely does not want, but has to pretend he does because he realizes it will be more useful to have Chilton on his side. 
> 
> Take it anywhere from Chilton being hilariously bad at seduction and Hannibal trying his damndest to pretend he's into it, to Hannibal fucking him/getting fucked while entertaining himself with graphic fantasies about Chilton's slow painful death.
> 
> Oh and if you want to get further down the timeline, one-sided bitter ex-lover would TOTALLY explain part of why Chilton and Hannibal hate each other so much post-Hannibal's incarceration."
> 
> As a note, while the fic does fill most of the prompt, it is not the main focus of this fic. Also, this fic was written over the span of a month, in which case many things happened in the series that do not get addressed here and may render certain interactions out of character :(

 

 

There is a loud knock on the door. Will looks at his clock. 7:08AM. He wants to be upset, but who’s he kidding? It’s not like he was sleeping anyway. Poogle, the miniature dachshund he picked up outside a gas station two years ago, paws at Will’s arm. An emergency, possibly of the fecal sort.

“Will! I know you’re awake!” It’s Alana. She sounds mad. Or constipated. She’s made an emergency stop at Will’s before, looking for some Ex-Lax when the mini-mart off her exit was out.

 

“I need your help, Will!” Alana is pacing back and forth across Will’s living room. Winston follows her every step with a curious whine. The older dogs know better and watch from afar.

There’s a pause. A normal person may have asked Alana a follow up question, but Will isn’t what most people would call normal, and he’s not interested in pretending to be. He knows she’ll tell him what’s up whether he wants to hear it or not.

“Hannibal isn’t answering my emails,” she says stopping short in front of Will. Winston bumps his nose on her leg and whimpers. There’s a spot of dog snot on Alana’s silky stockings.

Hannibal Lecter, everyone’s favorite consulting psychiatrist. Will purses his lips. There’s something about Hannibal that stays in Will’s mind, something he can’t figure out. He’s too perfect. He has an answer to everything. His hair is never out of place. Fucking Hannibal and his psychoanalyzing, trying to figure out the nooks and crannies in Will’s mind. Hannibal and his fancy office to match his fancy suits and fancy shoes, all shiny and definitely not covered in dog hair or dander. He probably matches his ties and his socks to his underwear. Not that Will has thought about it much, especially not on restless nights when he’s tired of counting enough sheep to populate Australia. By breed.

“Dr. Lecter doesn’t seem like an email kind of guy,” Will finally replies, watching the mucus slide slowly down Alana’s leg. It reminds him of a nuisance who used to pour bottles of Wite-Out on unsuspecting girls to show where he wanted to ejaculate on them. It was always on the shins. “More like a homing pigeon kind of fellow, that Hannibal.”

“Ha. Ha.” Alana is Not Amused, which means Will’s Blackboard course site is probably going to be having ‘server maintenance’ issues very soon.

“Why don’t you call him?” Will ventures to suggest.

“Because!” Alana looks at Will with That Face. He knows that she knows that he thinks she’s being a little ridiculous. That’s never stopped her from seeking his counsel, though.

Poogle has managed to climb over the back of the sofa and is resting his front paws on Will’s head, digging about for treats. It’s actually helping ease the headache starting up.

“Okay, listen. This is top secret,” she says, which means she’s probably already told Jack (like the time with that ‘hunky grad student’ from Israel), and Jack will tell all the lab rats (like the time with that Armenian taxi-driver with the lips), and when Beverly gives Alana waggly brows and hums a ‘bow-chika-wow-wow’ (like the time with the underwear model from Boston and his twin brother), Will is going to be the one in the dog house (like every single time).

“I think I have a lead in the Chesapeake Ripper case.”

It’s not until Poogle’s claws are skittering on the hardwood floor that Will realizes he’s standing up. Alana gets close to Will, her voice dropping low.

“I don’t think Gideon is the Ripper,” she whispers. “I have proof.”

“Why are you whispering? I live in the middle of nowhere; no one can hear us.”

Alana pouts and furrows her brows. “I think Dr. Chilton put the idea in Gideon’s head,” she says normally. Reluctantly.

“I agree,” Will says. He had been tempted to scream ‘Fake!’ as soon as he had figured out the process, but no one was around to hear him say it, and he forgot by the time the crew arrived. “What’s your proof?”

She looks away for a moment. “I’m not sure if I should tell you.”

“Well, you’re here for a reason.” Will’s very good at avoiding eye-contact, which makes him really good at noticing when other people are also averting their gazes. Alana, usually very straightforward, is hopelessly obvious.

“It’s something Dr. Chilton said when we did dinner with Hannibal the other night,” Alana finally says.

Something in Will’s head shrieks, like silverware crossing paths on porcelain plates.

“You did dinner with Hannibal? Chilton was there? When?”

“Thursday?” Alana bites her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Now Will’s pacing around his living room. First Jack, now Alana’s had dinner chez Hannibal at least twice. Hell, even Abigail’s been over to Hannibal’s once.

 

“He’s never invited me to his house,” Will muttered when Jack first boasted of the fantastic five course meals he had at Dr. Lecter’s totally sweet, ‘straight out of a Williams-Sonoma catalogue’ bachelor pad.

“You’re special,” Beverly teased him, “he brought breakfast to you.”

She proceeded to whip out a copy of Cosmopolitan (from Zeller’s desk, she claimed), opened to a list of How To Know If He’s Really Into You.

“Surprise visits are ranked seventh on the list. Making you breakfast is number three.” Her mischievous smile and raised eyebrows made Will scrunch his face so his glasses fell low on the bridge of his nose. He always looked down because he was worried Beverly would see the blush in his eyes.

 

Winston whimpers and hides his face behind his paws. He does that when Will raises his voice because it’s a rare event, one that Winston hasn’t gotten used to. The other dogs, led by Poogle, slowly surround Alana. They sense a threat. Alana rubs her temple, as if she was the one suddenly rustled out of bed after a fitful night of non-sleep and thinking about Hannibal’s undergarments.

“Will, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” she sighs. “It was really last minute. If I had more time, I would have invited you!”

She’s just saying that to soothe him, but it’s not working because she knows that Will can read through her words, so she doesn’t even really try anymore. The dogs begin to growl at Alana.

“It wasn’t for pleasure,” Alana adds quickly, “It was so Hannibal could meet Dr. Chilton.”

“How did Dr. Chilton get an invitation before me?” Will’s voice takes a pitch similar to Winston’s whine when the other dogs nip him in the ankles for no reason.

“It was work, Will,” Alana says. Her voice is flat; her patience is running thin. She hasn’t had her three morning espressos yet. “Can you get over your man-crush on Hannibal for a second and listen?”

“I do not have a crush on Hannibal!” The dogs scatter from the living room. They don’t like it when Daddy yells.

“You so do!” Alana raises her voice back at Will. “Everyone knows you’re totally crushing on Hannibal!”

“I- I am not c-crushing!” It feels like he suddenly has ten shots of Novocaine in his mouth, and he’s just spewing incoherent sounds and saliva everywhere.

“You always creep up on me and Jack when we talk about him. You get upset whenever one of us has dinner with him!”

Will’s nostrils flare. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Alana.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing you! I’ve seen you use Beverly’s account to Facebook stalk Hannibal when you’re proctoring exams!”  She looks hard at him. It’s the Alpha Staring game, one that Alana is unfortunately very good at because Will sucks at maintaining eye-contact. He folds as soon as their eyes meet.

“I’m not judging you,” Alana says softly. “I just want you to shut up so I can finish my story.”

“It was just research,” Will mumbles, slumping into his favorite armchair. The mix of dog hair and lint scratches at his bare thighs. Alana always catches him with his pants off.

 

“I think Chilton’s using psychic driving on Gideon,” Alana says.

“Psychic driving,” Will repeats, rolling the words off his tongue, kneading the idea in his head.

“He probably incepted the idea into Gideon’s head during those interviews,” she adds, half in thought.

Spotty terminology aside, Will believes Alana has a good theory. All the weird vibes between Gideon’s kill and the Ripper’s work would make sense if Gideon is copycatting.

“Have you told Jack yet?”

Alana shakes her head no. “I don’t want to say anything yet. It’s too high-profile a case. Any mislead could lead to another victim.”

“But if we let Gideon take credit, the Ripper might feel compelled to correct us.” Will presses his lips together tight. He feels like Winston, when the dog can’t decide whether to resist enjoying his favorite rawhide bone and bury it for safekeeping, or to chew on it now and risk having it stolen by the other dogs.

Alana purses her lips for a moment. “I think we might be able to get Chilton to admit to the driving. I have a plan, anyway.”

I have a plan. Four words that, when uttered from Alana’s mouth, send Will into instant cold sweats and shivers.

Will’s twitches don’t go unnoticed by Alana. “I know, I know. I’ll keep you out of it as much as possible,” she says, but Will is not reassured at all. “I just have one teeny-weensy favor to ask you.”

Will hears Winston whimper from outside.

 

Will knocks on the heavy door softly. Was it too soft? He’s already forgotten if he really felt his knuckles rapping against the wood. He raises his hand, ready to knock again. Wait, can’t seem impatient. Play it cool, Will thinks to himself as he wipes his sweaty palms on his jacket. There are now little damp streaks along his pockets. Great.

The door opens, and Will swears his heartbeat is echoing in the entire waiting room. Hannibal Lecter looks down at Will and does that thing where he smiles from his eyes without moving his mouth. Smizing, Beverly called it. Will finds Hannibal’s smize enchanting.

“Hello, Will.” The greeting is short, but so full of meaning. Of course the obvious hello; Hannibal is a polite man. But it’s intimate, because he calls Will ‘Will,’ not ‘William’ or ‘Mr. Graham’. When Jack is drunk, sometimes he drunk dials Will and calls him ‘Graham Cracker,’ which is maybe supposed to be endearing, but Will’s never brought it up when Jack is sober.

‘Will.’ It’s his name, and Hannibal could never wear out the sound. His accent makes it sound like a 70-30 blend of ‘Will’ and ‘wheel.’

“Are you okay, Will?”

Right. Will refocuses on the task Alana sent him on. Hannibal’s already said his name twice, and the second time had a tinge of concern. Will isn’t sure whether it was regular professional concern, or if it was concern-concern. Maybe he should subscribe to Cosmopolitan. He has such a hard time with these little details, particularly when they come from Hannibal.

“Dr. Bloom asked me to check up on you,” Will manages to finally say. His eyes move from Hannibal’s arm leaning on the doorway to the long contours of his body. Flawless. Will feels underdressed in yesterday’s flannel.

“Oh.” Hannibal seems to shake himself out of a reverie. Maybe he got lost thinking about Will in the same way Will somehow thinks himself in circles over Hannibal? Maybe.

“Pardon my manners, Will, do come in.” Hannibal leans back, giving Will just enough space to pass. Jack’s mentioned it before, how Euro dudes have no sense of private space, but it’s not like enjoying some physical intimacy once in awhile makes anyone gay or anything. (Price immediately added that Euro dudes have ‘like, the worst taste ever in house music. Ever.’)

Will makes the mistake of turning his body so he’s chest-to-chest with Hannibal for a half-millisecond. Even though he can feel the heat from Hannibal’s broad body, Will shivers at the near contact.

“I’m sorry you’ve gotten tangled up in this, Will,” Hannibal says. He takes a seat in a square black chair. It’s the one Jack said ‘caressed my bottom the way Mother Nature intended it to be caressed.’ Will sits across Hannibal. The chair that’s caressing his bottom has caressed Hannibal’s many a time. Will wonders if it’s like when Beverly teases Zeller and Price for indirectly kissing because they accidentally drank from the same water bottle. If so, then Will and Hannibal’s butts have indirectly kissed. Four times, to be exact.

“It’s nothing,” Will says with a shrug. He tries to be casual, but it feels like a poor attempt at pop-locking. “Dr. Bloom wants to know if you’ve gotten her emails, is all.”

Hannibal sighs. “I would have wished for this to remain between Dr. Bloom and myself.”

“The truth is, I’m not quite sure what to do myself.” Hannibal looks down. He’s very handsome when he’s brooding. He does that little thing where he presses his lips in thought. It makes him look like a duck.

“Let me show you something, Will.”

Hannibal gets up and steps out of the room, which is a good thing because Will gets a chance to check out the rear view.

Will’s not sure what to expect. It seemed like Hannibal was very concerned, which Will’s never seen. Wait, yes, there was that time Hannibal came over with the breakfast and got his leg humped by Winston for half the meal. But aside from that, Will couldn’t imagine Dr. Hannibal Lecter having any trouble. Dr. Hannibal ‘I’m so perfect and European so that makes me way better than North American men’ Lecter? Hannibal ‘I butcher my own pig to make my own bacon and render my own lard from my homemade bacon to make scones from scratch and hand deliver all my homemade goods to your door’ Lecter? Hannibal Lecter in a dilemma, and willing to confide in Will?

That Cosmopolitan article comes back to Will like dinner after a night of Jagerbombs.

‘Number Two: He lets you save his day.’ Will thanks all the heavens that he has the memory he does. Minus the part where he has every single gruesome crime scene he’s ever seen etched into his skull. Yeah, the memory’s usually a bummer.

‘Guys hate being seen as weak, so if they show you their vulnerable side, it means he’s totally into you! Make sure you kiss that booboo in his heart!’’

  
  


“Here are the emails Dr. Bloom would like a response to,” Hannibal says, tapping at his tablet. It’s totally ultra-sweet, just like Jack said. He’s too busy fiddling with his tablet to notice that Will is now sitting in the seat he had just vacated. He passes the tablet to Will from a little behind, so his wrist rests on Will’s shoulder. Will feels his pocket protector rattle from his heartbeat. He can see Hannibal’s sculpted wrist and little bulgy veins from where his cuff pulls up. It’s like a topographical map, one that smells like shea butter cream infused with honey and vanilla.

“She sent me a total of twenty-three messages, more than half of them in the last twenty-four hours,” Hannibal says, pointing out the email chain.

 

Alana <...>  (4 days ago)

to me

Hey Hannibal!! Thanks soooooo much for dinner the other night!! :) :) It was totally delish!! Fred had a good time, too. he rly liked talkin 2 u :) He said we should totally do it again, and I agree!!

BTW u gotta tell me where u got that wine! gotta see if i can find it in the stuff FBI seized in customs ;)

 

Alana <...> (4 days ago)

to me

What a coincidence!! I ran into Fred today, and it turns out he is free next Friday and invited us to do dinner with him!! How crazy is that?? I know this great Italian place that would be perfect!! Great atmosphere, fantastic wines!! What do you think?? Should I make the reservation??

 

Alana <...> (3 days ago)

to me

OK I made the reservation for Friday at 8:30!! Just in case you’re free too!! If not, don’t worry, we can reschedule!! I’ll ping you the address!!

 

Alana <...> (3 days ago)

to me

4got 2 send da resturnt’ss menu

 

Alana <...> (2 days ago)

to me

Hey Hannibal, just reminding you about dinner on Friday :) :) :) :)

 

Alana <...> (yesterday)

to me

R u excited 4 dinner tmrw?????? i m SO RDY 4 meatballs!!!! U like meatballs 2? ;)))

 

Alana <...> (yesterday)

to me

The place is kind of formal btw!! No jeans!! But you don’t need a tie either!!

 

Alana <...> (yesterday)

to me

Srs q: wuld u get w Chilton? y/n

 

Alana <...> (today at 03:36)

to me

JKJK!

 

Alana <...> (today at 03:57)

to me

BTW I TOTALLY forgot that I had to go talk to Will about all the classes he missed because of Jack being a butt and all, so I can’t make it to dinner!! Soooooo sorry!! But you and Fred should totally have fun together!! I already changed the reservation to 2!! I’m sure you won’t miss me ;))

  
  


Will can’t read on. It’s like the email trainwreck of a dissociative personality disorder, where the personalities sound a lot like they work at a forensics lab in Quantico.

“I’m not sure if I should let Dr. Bloom know that her email has been hacked, or if I should take it up directly with the offenders,” Hannibal murmurs. “What do you think, Will?”

“First, I have already made up the lectures I cancelled to consult with Jack,” Will says. “Second, Dr. Bloom wouldn’t be so careless as to let her email be hacked.”

Will feels it happening, that inexplicable feeling where he starts seeing the connections between what is in front of him and motives invisible to everyone else. This time, motives that created this absurd correspondence.

“You see here? There are details that only you and Dr. Bloom should know, right? A private dinner party you guys had last week. Now, Dr. Bloom’s usually very direct, but this email is flaky. A courtesy. Why?” Will gestures at the email. “And notice how the punctuation doesn’t reflect her usual style of writing. I think Dr. Bloom didn’t write the email, but she may have dictated it to someone, which is why she chose to hold back on the information.”

“Why would she dictate her emails?”

“She’s a busy lady.” Will shrugs. “I’ve typed almost all her OKCupid correspondences with her dictating to me. She says it helps her think about what she says before she sends it. And the fact that I’ll remember all the guy’s information were she to suddenly disappear during a date.”

Hannibal does that deep in thought duck lip thing. It’s really endearing. Makes Hannibal seem more down to earth, more human.

‘Oh shit, I’m staring.’ Will turns back to the tablet and points out some of the messages. “And here and here? These are times when I know for a fact Dr. Bloom was either in a lecture or meeting. She couldn’t have sent these emails, which means our mystery secretary sent those without Dr. Bloom knowing. Secretaries, actually, if you look at how these messages were composed.”

As he explains about the differences in syntax and punctuation, Will feels a soft heat at his side. Hannibal is leaning down, nearly head-to-head with Will, listening to his every word. If he could stay asleep long enough, Will is sure this is the kind of closeness he would dream of.

“Should we alert Dr. Bloom to these unauthorized messages?” Hannibal asks.

Will jolts at the breath against his cheek and forces himself to stare down at the tablet.

“Do you think Dr. Chilton used psychic driving on Dr. Gideon?” he blurts out.

Hannibal straightens himself up, and Will is relieved because his face was beginning to feel heated from Hannibal’s gentle breaths.

“Is that what this is all about?” Hannibal asks. Will’s not sure if this is an angry question or a surprised one.

“Maybe. She doesn’t mention it at all in the email,” Will says. “I think maybe her correspondence was hijacked around the second message.”

Hannibal looks at Will, then the tablet. He takes a step closer to Will. Aw yes.

Will feels good when he can reconstruct events like this casually. No lives at stake. The crime scenes really mess him up, because sometimes Will just wants to be disgusted and despise the criminals, but neither of those yield high arrest rates. When it’s like this though, figuring out what’s going on with these emails, Will feels at peace. He feels like the world makes a little more sense to him.

“See between these hours, Dr. Bloom was tied up in a meeting following her interview with Dr. Gideon. I think a third-party may have coerced Dr. Bloom’s secretaries into sending the emails without her knowing.”

“Coerced.” Hannibal says to himself.

“You might say they were,” Will says as he adjusts his glasses, “psychically coerced.”

“Chilton.”

Will nods. “I don’t know how he got in touch with the team, but I know Jack’s been talking to Chilton a lot since the whole Gideon-going-apeshit thing. Maybe he caught them checking if you had replied.”

“And why would Dr. Chilton interfere?” It’s hard for Will to tell if Hannibal is asking redundantly, or if he really doesn’t know the answer to the question. It’s probably because Hannibal tends to ask questions monotonously.

“Uh, well,” Will glances up at Hannibal. The man’s face is Easter Island Moai stony. “I think Dr. Chilton’s really into you, Hannibal. I bet he just happened to walk into the right place at the right time and had someone ask you out on his behalf.”

The tablet screen fades to conserve energy. Something between a cough and a chortle gets stuck in Hannibal’s throat. Will chuckles. It’s not shocking that Hannibal is totally unimpressed with Chilton, but hearing him express it makes Will feel good, like when Beverly nicks all the leftover bagels from the morning briefs and shares it with him first. A pleasant surprise.

“Thank you for clarifying this mess for me, Will,” Hannibal says, clearing his throat. “I suppose the best course of action is to leave things be and wait until I can speak to Dr. Bloom. In person.” He takes the tablet from Will’s hands. Hannibal’s hand is so soft, and his fingers brush against Will’s. Will feels a jolt in his hand where they touch.

“Oh my,” Hannibal says, “I’m so sorry, Will. The air’s been so dry these days, and between my woolen socks and the carpet, I’ve been a little charged up these days.”

He does that smizing thing again. The first thought in Will’s head is, ‘he felt it too.’

“Wait, Doctor.” Will finds himself grasping Hannibal’s wrist. It’s so thick and solid under the layers of Italian suit. He can feel Hannibal’s body heat and pulse through the fabrics, and Will tries to force his rapid heartbeat to match Hannibal’s calm one. Like their hearts are in sync.

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal never sounds caught-off-guard. It’s both unnerving and a relief to Will.

Will is glad he has a reputation for avoiding eye-contact, because otherwise his shifty eyes would arouse suspicions. This is all part of Alana’s great plan to get the dirt on Chilton by sending Hannibal to do some espionage. Will didn’t want anything to do with this poor excuse for a romantic comedy scheme, but the urgency of preventing another crime comes first. And Alana had promised to negotiate pet health insurance into his Georgetown contract as extra motivation.

“Dr. Bloom won’t be in town until Monday,” he mumbles. “She, uh, she’s got things to do. Work things.”

“Is that so?” This time the question sounds like a question.

Will sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “What’ll you do?”

There’s a short, dense pause. “What do you think I should do, Will?”

“I think Dr. Bloom’s onto something about the psychic driving,” Will says. He glances at Hannibal, tries to meet his eyes, but Hannibal’s way too intense. Will feels like he’s falling into space, suffocating in dark matter that sucks the air out of his lungs and turns his organs inside-out. He opts to look at Hannibal’s nose instead. It’s very aquiline and calming.

“Then it’s decided,” Hannibal says. He goes to his office and picks up his desk phone. “I’m cancelling the reservation.”

Will waits quietly while Hannibal dials a number. Of course he uses a rotary phone; it’s part of that Euro flair Jack talks about. The only sound is the gears turning as Hannibal pushes the number wheel.

“Dr. Chilton? Yes, this is Hannibal Lecter. I’m calling about tonight’s plans.”

Will feels strange listening to half a phone conversation, especially because part of him, the Poogle part, wants to hear Hannibal turn Chilton down. The Winston side of him thinks that's mean. He takes out his phone and goes to the waiting room, pretending to make a call. He’s glad he read that Reddit thing Beverly sent about ‘awkward turtling’ out of difficult situations.

Speaking of the devil, she’s sent him two texts.

“<https://twitter.com/DRChilltown>”

“OMFGBBQROTFLMAOOOOOOOOO”

Will opens the link.

“WELCOME TO #CHILLTOWN”

Beverly’s somehow managed to find Dr. Chilton’s (or Fresh Cheezy, as his profile says) Twitter page. Will scrolls down to read some of his earlier posts.

 

“#jussayin people on welfare should be drug tested.”

“Big Mac = foodgasm. it’s like i jizzed... in my mouth! LOL”

“if porn is #NSFW, what’s considered #NSFW to a porn star? #thinkaboutit”

 

‘More like ‘not safe for life,’’ Will thinks as he scrolls past the drivel that is Chilton’s Twitter feed.

 

 

“home party tonight. i hate homemade food bc it usually sux but then again it’s free #catch22”

“so where are the elephants? #historyjoke #youwontgetit”

“velvet jackets: gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets”

“DAT ASS”

“this bitch needs to get outta my grill and stop cockblocking the #chilltown”

“this guy is so into me. Dudes love the Cheezy”

“he called my tongue feisty. I’ll show you a feisty tongue ;p ;d ;b ;}~”

“damn bitch this ain’t the Spanish Inquisition #historyjoke #youwontgetit”

“this dude pulled me into his kitchen and started peeling grapes. #kinky”

“got a semi from watching too #noshame”

“i’d suck his grapes ;) ;) ;)”

 

“Will.”

Will jumps, throwing his phone right in Hannibal’s face. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have startled you like that.” Hannibal adjusts his lapels. "I'm sorry, Will, but I'll have to cut your visit short. Dr. Chilton will be coming to my house and I need to make some preparations."

"What? I thought you cancelled the reservation?" Will’s a little confused. Maybe ‘cancelling a reservation’ means something else in Europe.

“I did,” Hannibal says with a nod. “As I’ve told you before, I’m very particular about what I eat, so I invited Dr. Chilton to dine at my residence tonight.”

Nothing and everything goes through Will’s head at once. This is Chilton’s second time! Second time going to Hannibal’s place! Will is still in the office-zone, which may be worse than that dreadful friendzone he's read about on Reddit. He reminds himself that this is part of Alana’s Great Plan, and that he’s doing this so he can save lives and get Winston all his shots for half the price.

“I hope you can forgive me, Will,” Hannibal murmurs.

“What do you mean, Hannibal?” Will laughs nervously, but he thinks it sounds like hyperventilating.

“I don't want you to think badly of me. I would very much prefer to obtain this information through more ethical means,” Hannibal says, deliberating his words, “but Dr. Bloom has the right idea. Time is of essence, and we wouldn’t want to upset the Ripper, now would we?”

There’s a soft smile playing at the corners of Hannibal’s mouth. Will thinks he should probably feel relieved, that this is just part of The Plan, but something feels off, like he’s buttoned his shirt wrong. But it’s Hannibal, almost smiling, and it’s such a rare occasion that Will tries his hardest to remember the moment so he can figure out how to pull that smile out again. What were they talking about anyway? Right, the Chesapeake Ripper.

“Yeah. Totally.” Will tries to smile back, but his jaw is tense.

Hannibal looks at his watch. “Ah, pardon my curtness, Will, but-”

“Say no more.” Will interjects, “you’ve got some spying to do.”

Hannibal bows his head graciously. Will doesn’t know how to respond, so he gives Hannibal a thumbs up before picking up his phone and turning to leave.

‘A thumbs up. Good job, Graham Cracker. This is why you’re forever alone.’

  
  


“This is such a hot mess,” Beverly says. She’s planted in front of Will’s computer, scrolling with one hand and shoveling popcorn into her mouth with the other.

Will is lying on the floor. Poogle has decided to make Will’s face his personal carpet. Winston waits at Beverly’s feet, hoping she’ll drop some snacks his way. Mr. Fluffybutts, the Corgi that wandered into his basement last winter, sniffs at Will’s armpits. Noodles, the high-maintenance mutt that Will found tied to a tree twenty miles off the state border, ignores his very existence, walking over Will as if he wasn’t the one filling her food bowl every day.

“This is like a movie, isn’t it?” Will’s voice is muffled by Poogle’s hindquarters. “The ones Zeller says he watches. For research.”

“You mean chick flicks?”

“Isn’t this a classic scenario?” Will continues. “They set up a fake relationship, but end up falling in love.”

“Um, that means Hannibal’s gonna get with Chilton.” Beverly pretends to throw popcorn across the room. Winston scrambles on a wild goosechase.

“Damn.”

“Unless you’re talking about the trope where the main characters set their friends up and then get together even though they weren’t trying to,” Beverly adds, “then that means you’re gonna end up with Dr. Bloom.”

Poogle sits on Will’s face. “Ew.”

Beverly snickers. “Aw, don’t worry, Will. I bet Dr. Bloom would strap it on for you!”

“What?!” Will sits up, sending Poogle rolling down his chest.

“Oh my god, Will, don’t tell me you don’t know what a strap-on is.” Beverly turns and pulls up Google on the computer.

“It’s not that,” Will says quickly. Of course he knows what a strap-on is. He’s worked a case of a serial rapist who modified one to be worn on his head, like a miner’s hat, but with a prosthetic penis where the light should have been. The guy called himself The Unicorn and violated women with his ‘horn.’

Beverly whips around in the swivel chair, scaring Noodles out from under the table. “Don’t tell me Dr. Bloom’s already packing!”

“No!” Will yells. “I- I’ve been in the same room with her while she got a Brazilian wax,” he adds when Beverly raises her brows skeptically.

“Okay, you guys are way too close.”

“It was one of those team building workshop things. I- don’t ask, okay?”

“Does that mean she’s seen your junk?” Beverly’s eyes dart to Poogle, who is sitting on Will’s lap.

“Ew, no!”

“Wait, don’t tell me.” Beverly has her Thinking Cap (Tin Hat, Price calls it) on, which means Will’s not going to get a word in for a while. “Are you into fisting?”

“Beverly. I’m a top.”

The bowl of popcorn slides off Beverly’s lap. Winston jumps on it.

“I don’t believe it,” she whispers, nearly inaudible as the dogs greedily lap up the popcorn. “You’ve had sex?”

Will braces himself for Beverly’s shrill cackle, but she just stares at him. “You seriously thought I was a virgin?”

Beverly shrugs. “I don’t know! I just can’t see you... you know...”

“Can’t see me what?” Will asks, but he’s heard all the answers. Can’t see you as ‘the man’. Can’t see you being stable enough. Can’t see you being attractive to anyone.

“I can’t see you getting naked in front of someone else.”

Will also calls Beverly’s thinking cap a Tin Hat because sometimes he remembers that for all the technological know-how and Nancy Drew sleuthing skills, Bev’s just a little half-baked. He feels bad for having expected the worse from her.

“How is it that you can think of strap-ons and fisting, but you can’t imagine people having sex with their clothes on?”

“Touche.” The dogs have scattered, and Will’s floor is stained with saliva and grease.

A quiet sound comes from the computer.

“Oh, right!” Beverly says, spinning herself to face the monitor. “Will, come here! It’s Chilton’s Twitter feed!”

 

“homemade candles = cheexy’s #gonnagetlaid”

“pate is #foodcode for ‘i swallow’ right?”

“there’s sausage on my plate. it’s very pert #foodporn literally”

“ok knife + sausage = not sexy. #RIPboner”

“jlajfakfjdlajfskfdal k PUT THAT SAUSAGE IN YOUR MOUTH”

“suckitsuckitsuckitsuckit”

 

Beverly shrieks in laughter at the messages slowly making their way down the page. “I can’t believe this guy actually thinks Hannibal’s into him!” she manages to wheeze out between gasps.

Will finds himself laughing too. Beverly’s laugh, the way she snorts because she’s laughing harder than she can breathe, is infectious, contagious. Like mushroom spores taking root in Will’s lungs until it bursts out of him too. The dogs whimper and hide; the only thing rarer than Will’s anger is laughter.

“Thank god Chilton’s such an asshole,” Beverly finally says as she rubs her eyes with her palms.

An idea hits Will. “Do you think Hannibal has a Twitter account?”

“Sorry, Graham Cracker,” Beverly says, “I’ve tried looking for it. No dice.”

Will can’t say he’s surprised. It’s not Hannibal’s style to be so open about himself. Will’s not sure Hannibal’s interested in that stuff anyway. He did notice the Tumblr tab when he saw Hannibal’s tablet. Maybe Twitter isn’t too far a jump. Hannibal would probably enjoy Instagramming those dinners he makes. Maybe he could start a blog. He’d probably become famous. Internet famous, which is way cooler than Hollywood famous in Will’s mind.

“Um, Will?”

Will jumps. ‘Was I thinking out loud again?’

But Beverly hasn’t moved from her position in front of the screen. “Did Dr. Bloom ever elaborate exactly how Hannibal was going to get information from Chilton?”

“I asked her to tell me as little as possible,” Will replies. “It’s a liability thing.”

Beverly turns to Will. She’s serious, like when there is absolutely no more coffee in the staff room. “I think they’re having sex.”

There’s a pop in Will’s ear. His brain just exploded. Or maybe it was the stray kernel that Beverly rolled over with the chair.

“Look, his tweets have stopped. The last one was ten minutes ago. ‘gonna watch a movie’. He has a winking smiley face at the end of that!”

Will’s stomach feels like it’s floating, like the moment just after he slips but right before he tumbles down a flight of stairs.

“I thought he was gonna do an inane live tweet, but nothing.” Beverly taps her finger on the mouse.

Will bites the inside of his lip. “Maybe it’s a really interesting movie.”

  
  


It’s almost three in the morning now, and Beverly and Will are sitting across from Price and Zeller in the dingiest diner south of New Jersey.

“You’re lucky my LARP session ended early,” Price mutters as he clacks away at a laptop.

“What are you complaining about?” Zeller says, “this is probably the closest thing to a normal weekend for you.”

“At least I have something to do on weekends,” Price replies, eyeing the volumes of library books at Zeller’s side. Fifty Shades of Grey is at the top.

“It’s research.”

“The way you research makes me wonder if Jack’s got you on a watch list.”

“S’mores!” Beverly hisses. “Stop flirting and help me hack!”

“He started it!” Price and Zeller say at once.

‘Graham Cracker and the S’mores’ is what Jack calls the whole team when he’s too drunk to remember their names. Beverly’s claimed the marshmallow, citing her favorite childhood doll, a fat bunny named Mashimaro. Price decided he’d be the skewer holding everyone together, and Zeller shrugged and said he’d be the fire under everyone’s asses.

Will looks around the diner. There are a group of college students already drunk beyond coherence. Some truckers sit at the far counter. Their waitress is nowhere to be seen. He sinks into the booth and nurses his milkshake.

“No updates on Twitter yet?” Price says, looking at his watch. “That’s over an hour. Maybe it really is a good movie. Avatar was almost three hours long.”

Zeller sips his coffee. “Or Chilton’s really good in bed.”

Will chokes on his milkshake and scowls. “Ow, it went up my nose!”

Beverly and Price snicker behind their laptops.

“On the other, more feasible hand,” Zeller adds, “Maybe Hannibal’s a good lay.”

Beverly and Zeller turn to Will, who hides his face while he dabs milkshake from his nose.

“I could see that,” Price muses. “I bet he has a fur blanket. No! A bear rug, made from a bear he killed with his bare hands.”

“Is that one of those weird man fantasies?” Beverly asks over the click of her fingers on her keyboard.

“Mantasies?” Zeller laughs. “And yes. Sex on top of your trophy for conquering nature? Throw in bacon-wrapped deep fried ice cream and it’s everything a man could ever want.”

Beverly grins. “Who would you rather do, Chilton or Hannibal?”

“Hannibal,” three voices say in unison.

“Hannibal or Jack?”

“Hannibal.”

“Hannibal.”

Jack,” Price raises a hand, “for political reasons.”

“Brown noser.”

“Fuck, marry, kill,” Price says to Beverly. “Me, Zeller, Will.”

‘Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill me,’ Will thinks as he chews on his straw.

“Kill you, fuck Zeller, marry Will.” Beverly winks at Will. “And then I’ll divorce you and take all your dogs.”

“Hey S’mores,” Zeller says, shushing the others. “I have remote access to Chilton’s phone.”

“Are we going to search his phone?” Price asks, “because last I checked, that could land us in jail. With all the people we put in there.”

“Of course not,” Beverly scoffs. “We’re just going to turn on his phone so we can hear what’s going on.”

“Is that even possible?” Price looks on a Beverly with a mix of interest and fear.

“Do you think Hannibal’s the top or bottom?” Zeller blurts out.

“Top.”

“Top.”

“Bottom.”

Everyone looks at Will, who keeps his eyes fixed on his glass.

“Power bottom,” he mumbles around his straw.

Zeller raises his brows. “Speaking from firsthand experience?”

“Is that what you really do when you ‘consult’ with him?” Beverly teases.

Will slouches so low in his seat, his knees touch the table. This is kind of mortifying, but it’s the S’mores. They’re ‘making fun’ of him like they ‘make fun’ of Zeller’s research or the weird wart on Price’s neck (the one with the hair growing out of it), or Beverly’s attempts to find a housemate on Craigslist. It doesn’t feel like the teasing he got when he was a kid. It makes Will think of the late nights he’s spent, wondering whether he’d have an easier time falling asleep if he were wrapped in someone else’s arms if he knew he’d wake up to gentle kisses. And then Winston would come over and give him a big sloppy wet one, just because he knew Will was thinking about it.

“S’mores?” Beverly’s voice is soft, her attention on the computer. “I think I’m in.”

“Anyone want to take bets on what movie they’re watching? I’m going with Hitch.”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Human Centipede.”

Will slurps up the last of his milkshake.

“Any bets on whether Chilton and Hannibal are actually,” she looks over at Will, then lowers her voice, “porking?”

“I’m sitting right next to you!” Will says with a frown.

Price’s eyes widen. “Oh sweet mother Mary, Will. Are you into Chilton?”

“Ew, no!” Will throws a wad of napkin at Price.

Zeller sighs. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s completely head over heels in love with Hannibal. Duh!”

“Totally into Hannibal,” Beverly adds.

“I am not head over heels in love with Hannibal!” Will whispers, but it sounds more like a hiss. A hissper. He looks around to make sure the two truckers across the entire diner did not hear them. He’s glad he hasn’t shaved in like forever because it hides the flush rising in his cheeks.

“Wow,” Zeller says, “you’ve got it bad.”

Will sputters while the other three speculate whether the feelings are mutual, and finally settles on chewing his straw angrily. Sulkily.

“Hey, S’mores, shut up and listen!” Beverly says, clapping her hands. The other two lean close to her and her laptop, while Will grumbles to no one.

“Alright, here we go!”

“Wait!” All eyes are on Price. “Marshmallow, why are we doing this again?  You called saying it was an emergency, and as much as I love office gossip, this doesn’t seem very cool.” He pauses, looking each of them in the eye. “This seems very much like a felony.”

Zeller rolls his eyes. “Bros before the law, man!”

“Neither Hannibal nor Chilton are my ‘bros’.”

"But you sent those emails for Chilton."

The other three look at Will, then each other, then avert their gazes altogether.

"What makes you say that?" Price asks. His voice is low, and he fiddles with the hem of his cape. He hadn't had time to change out of his LARP costume before Beverly called.

Beverly rolls her eyes at Price and sighs. "It was a joke, Will. Chilton heard Alana talking to us about inviting Hannibal out to dinner again. It sounded like the worst idea to try to set him up with Chilton, but she was so into it!"

"We didn't think anything would come out of it," Zeller says after a long pause. "It's Chilton for Christ's sake."

"She wasn't setting them up," Will says. "Dr. Bloom has

a hunch that Chilton is hiding something about Gideon and the Ripper case. She thinks that Hannibal might be able to get the truth out of him."

The table falls silent. Zeller makes a face. "Oh god. I sent him like five different versions of Sexual Healing."

Beverly looks at the other two. "We enabled Chilton. We have to take some responsibility."

Price gestures at the computer. "Let's hear what Cheezy's up to."

 

There’s a soft sound. White noise- no.

“Someone’s breathing.”

“Ten points to Captain Obvious.” Zeller swats at Price’s face. Beverly glares at them.

“Ah.” A soft sigh. Will tenses. His heart beats, rattling his entire body.

“Yeah, you like that?” The voice is a little stronger. It’s Chilton. Zeller and Beverly make faces. Price chuckles.

“Oh, that’s so good.” The words are distorted by Chilton’s heavy breath.

Beverly glances at Will. His eyes are dazed out, like when they’re at a crime scene, or Pet World.

‘This can not be happening now,’ Will thinks, and he grips his cup until his fingertips are smushed flat against the glass.

Will doesn’t need to see the scene to feel it. His mind is more than capable of filling in the blanks. He’s sitting in Hannibal’s office chair, the indirect butt kiss one, legs splayed open. One flat on the floor, the other hanging over the arm of the chair. His head rests on the back of the chair.

Everything looks blue, like the moment after the sun sets. Hannibal’s kneeling between Will’s legs, just in his shirt. His vest and jacket laid neatly on the arm of the other chair. His sleeves are rolled up, barely wrinkled, like he’s ready to prepare dinner. His skin is glows warm in the cool light. His hair is a little too perfect. Will reaches down and runs his fingers through the tips of perfectly gelled hair until a few locks fall across Hannibal’s forehead. Much better.

Hannibal’s hands run from Will’s belt down, fingering the pleats of Will’s pants before kneading the zipper. Every movement is deliberate, calculated. Hannibal undoes Will’s pants, and Will imagines it’s with the same intensity that Hannibal has when he’s uncorking wine for a tasting. The motions are familiar but the anticipation is still fresh. Hannibal closes his eyes and inhales deeply in reverence. To Will’s dick.

 

“I only hear one voice,” Price whispers.

“Yeah, who’s got a feisty tongue?” A shuddering breath. “Take it, you dirty boy.”

 

Will runs his palm along Hannibal’s jaw, up knobby cheekbones, and grabs a fistful of hair. Hannibal’s eyes narrow, the closest to an admission of pain. Resentment. Hannibal stares right at Will. His pupils are a stark black against white eyeballs, and they threaten to devour Will’s very breath. It’s offense, pure offense and hatred, like Will’s very existence disgusts Hannibal to his core.

He doesn’t want this. Will doesn’t want this. Something in his mind shatters. He feels like hell’s freezing over, starting at his crotch. He wants to vomit but he can’t do it, not in front of Hannibal, that’d be embarrassing. The walls of the office waver, and it sounds like he’s drowning in the thrum of his own breath. The chair is pulling him down, ready to consume him for daring to sully it. He fights the cushions, legs kicking to scramble to his feet, and he bolts.

 

Will’s face is hot, pressed against his knees, arms holding his legs close to him, strawberry milkshake-breath steaming up his glasses. His back is against the dashboard, his legs up on the shoulders of the passenger seat. They feel a little numb.

“Will?”

Will lifts his head. It’s Beverly, peeking through the open window. Price and Zeller hang back, but look at Will with concern. Anxiety. Nervousness. Curiosity. The parking lot is tar black with moonlight blue highlights. It’s quiet, empty, but a good kind of empty. Not like the void he saw in Hannibal’s eyes. That gaze was meant for Chilton, Will has to remind himself. Hannibal doesn’t hate you, he repeats in his head.

“Will, are you okay?”

“No,” Will finally mumbles into his shirt sleeve.

Beverly reaches into the car. It’s awkward for her to bend over; she’s only wearing Spanx and one of Will’s complimentary Georgetown sweatshirts.

“Come on, Graham Cracker. Tell Mashimaro what’s wrong.” She strokes the nape of his neck like he’s Winston, after Poogle’s peed on Winston’s favorite toy. But Will can always buy Winston a new toy. Winston can’t find Will a new Hannibal. Will doesn’t want another one anyway.

“I- I'm into Hannibal.” Will takes a deep shuddering breath. “I know we need to find the Ripper, but I’m totally into him.” Will continues. “ We can find the evidence. We’ll go over the forensics. The bodies. The statements. We’ll do it over and over until we prove Dr. Bloom’s theory that Gideon isn’t the Ripper.”

“Oh, baby,” Beverly says softly, squeezing Will’s shoulder. Price raises a hand, but Zeller swats it down and shushes him.

“I have to stop him,” Will says. “I have to tell him that he doesn’t need to do this. He doesn’t need to do Chilton.”

Beverly giggles, her smile pressed against Will’s arm.

“Don’t tell me you can’t see me saving Hannibal from Chilton,” Will says, looking down at the black mass of Beverly’s hair.

“It’s not that,” she says, looking up at him. “Remember the list? Number one?”

 

How To Know If He’s Really Into You (source: Cosmopolitan) #1: he’s not embarrassed to tell the world that he’s really into you.

 

Thirty minutes later, the sun is just creeping on the horizon. Will stands in front of Hannibal’s door. His fingers are cold, poking out from his sleeves just enough to have a sturdy grip on two light bags. There are thin red lines where the plastic bags’ handles dig into his skin. He turns around. The S’mores are nowhere to be seen, which sucks because Beverly was his ride. He’s not sure how he got the idea to do this. It’s almost like those romantic comedies that Zeller watches, except Will doesn’t have a boombox or a mullet.

He rings the bell this time. It only takes a moment before Hannibal answers. He’s in a strange state of dress, for Hannibal anyway. He has his usual dress slacks on, but instead of a the usual starched shirt, he’s wearing a very fitted white undershirt. It has a very classic, James Dean feel. His hair falls over his forehead and adds a softness to his chiseled face.

‘Don’t stare at his nipples,’ Will has to tell himself. He decides to move his gaze up to the very neutral zone just below Hannibal’s neck, where the shirt’s V-neck collar dips down to reveal a burst of chest hair. Just above a set of very hard nipples. Damn it.

“Will.” Hannibal is surprised. He doesn’t sound surprised, but he doesn’t seem quite as composed as usual either.

“Hey,” Will says. He feels nervous. No, that’s an understatement. His stomach is knotted so tight he can taste strawberries threatening to come back up. “Is this a bad time?”

Hannibal parts his lips, but doesn’t have a reply. This is another first for Will.

“What’s going on?” An arm snakes around Hannibal’s waist, and Chilton appears from behind the door. His face is a tint of Inebriated Crimson. Will stares at Chilton’s hand. It’s holding on to Hannibal so hard, Hannibal’s shirt is getting wrinkled.

The changes in Hannibal’s faces are subtle, but Will notices each one. Disgust in the way Hannibal’s brows furrow just a smidge, in the slight downward pull at the corners of his lips. It’s a muted version of the face Jack makes when someone farts in the elevator. It’s followed by a near imperceptible eye-widening, like when Zeller sees Beverly and Will reading his Cosmopolitan magazine. ‘I have a totally legit explanation,’ those eyes say, ‘but I’d really rather you not ask me.’

“Is this... William Graham?” Chilton sounds amused, like he remembered some inside joke. Will thinks it’s kind of funny, because Chilton is everyone else’s inside joke.

“Um, yeah.” Will says. He’s not sure how to proceed. He hopes that Chilton isn’t the kind of drunk that likes to give people weird nicknames.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Chilton speaks with a bit of a slur. “Doctor Frederick Chilton. Chesapeake State Hospital.” He tries to offer his hand out to Will, but it’s still around Hannibal. He ends up pulling their bodies closer together. “Whoops! Look at me, what am I even doing?”

Chilton laughs with his mouth wide open, right into Hannibal’s ear. Hannibal looks like he wants to rip Chilton’s tongue out, or maybe Will is just projecting.

“Will Graham. Georgetown. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Will says, extending his hand. Oh right, it’s still around Hannibal’s waist. Will squishes his fingers between Hannibal and Chilton’s hand. He squeezes Chilton’s fingers, denying Chilton the privilege of returning the handshake.

Chilton’s smile takes a more grit teeth look. “You know, William, I’ve been trying to get Alana to set up a meeting between us. I’m shocked it’s taken so long to meet you!”

Will hates being called ‘William,’ especially after he introduces himself as Will.

“I’d love to get together sometime and talk with you.” Chilton has a problem with not talking.

“About my issues?” Will replies.

Chilton tries to laugh it off, like that time when Jack asked Chilton if he was the one who farted in the elevator. Hannibal’s quiet. He stares at Chilton’s hand, still stuck to his side. Will can see goosebumps on Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal’s nipples poke through his t-shirt something fierce. It’s really hard to not look at them.

“Speaking of issues,” Will says, glaring at Chilton’s beard, “I need to talk to Dr. Lecter. Um. About my issues.”

Chilton’s obnoxious smile falls. “At five in the morning?”

“Yeah.” Will replies. “These are, uh, really serious issues. Couldn’t wait.”

Chilton’s about to say something, but Hannibal speaks first.

“I’m always available to my clients,” he says quietly, yet firmly. He opens the door wider, hitting Chilton on the nose in process. “Please, Will. Dr. Chilton was just leaving.”

“I was?” Chilton asks, taken aback, though Will is pretty sure Chilton has been rejected more than enough times to warrant surprise anymore.

“Yes,” Hannibal says. He’s back, the cool, unreadable Hannibal. “Why don’t I show you to the main street? You can take a taxi from there.”

Even in the face of obnoxiousness personified, Hannibal’s still a cordial host. He reaches over to grab a sweater and gloves.

“Will, please make yourself at home. I won’t be long.”

And there it is, that smile. Will didn’t even have to mention the Ripper this time.

 

“My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Will jumps. “Wow, hey. That was fast.”

Hannibal peels off his gloves. He stops short when he sees Will sitting on the floor, with two styrofoam boxes in front of him. Plastic silverware flank the containers, and at the center of it all are two juice boxes.

“What’s going on?” Hannibal looks around, like Jack does when he suspects the S’mores are hiding the doughnuts.

“You know, I never returned the favor. When you made me breakfast that time,” Will says.

“Is this the pressing issue you had?”

Will shifts until he’s sitting in front of one box. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, not really. Beverly said she’s not allowed to go over to someone else’s house empty-handed and wouldn’t let me come without something.”

Hannibal stays in his spot, looking back and forth between Will and the boxes.

“Uh, I couldn’t fit this all on your little table stand things,” Will continues. “Don’t get me wrong; they’re very nice. Just small.”

From his spot on the floor, it looks like Hannibal’s doing his duck-lip thinking. Will hasn’t slept a wink, and it’s catching up to him. What if Hannibal is allergic to wheat? What if he’s on one of those no-carb diets? Maybe he should have brought a boom box. ‘Stupid,’ Will thinks to himself, ‘I should have paid more attention to those 80s movies Zeller lent me.’

“My sincere apologies, Will,” Hannibal says, “I’ve had a very long night.”

Will doesn’t want to think about the subtext in Hannibal’s words. He hopes there is no subtext. He nods, but he’s so nervous, he feels like his shoulders move with his head.

“I hate to be rude after you’ve gone through the pains of setting this up,” Hannibal continues, “but I’m afraid these pants aren’t made for sitting on the floor.”

Will blinks. “Um. Do you want me to go?” He wonders if it would be rude to take his portion with him on the way out.

“Stay. Please. But you’ll have to let me get changed into something more comfortable.”

“Oh. Um. Sure.”

Hannibal’s gone before Will realizes with a grin that Hannibal pretty much asked him permission to change clothes. The grin disappears when Will realizes that ‘changing into something a little more comfortable’ is 80’s movie code for sex.

 

It takes Hannibal more time to change his pants than it took him to put Chilton in a taxi.  Will’s suddenly self conscious. He’s still in yesterday’s clothes, and he wore the same shirt the day before, too. He hasn’t even brushed his teeth in nearly 20 hours.

Will manages to chomp through nearly half a pack of Mentos before Hannibal is back, sporting the same V-neck tee and chest hair, but with loose, linen drawstring pants. He’s also got a tray of cups, a pitcher full of orange juice, and his ultra Euro coffee press. His nipples aren’t poking out anymore, Will notices.

“I hate to be difficult,” Hannibal says, setting the tray down on the floor, “but I can’t drink something that looks like it was made for child consumption.” He side-eyes the juice boxes. “I squeezed some fresh juice and mixed it with the last of the champagne Dr. Chilton brought over.”

“Chilt- Dr. Chilton brought champagne?” Even cheap supermarket champagne costs way more than what Will spent on this diner breakfast, including tip.

“Yes.” Hannibal takes a moment getting settled on the floor. “He insisted we have some after dinner.”

“Right,” Will says with a nod. “Dinner.”

Hannibal looks at Will, then looks down at the container. “May I?”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know if you liked bananas or berries, so I got both.”

Will opens his box, revealing a heavy pile of pancakes covered in butter and syrup. He’s overwhelmed by the pungent, ripe bananas. If he had to put a scent on disappointment, this would be it.

“You like strawberries, don’t you?” Hannibal offers his box to Will. “I smelled it on you earlier.” Will knows he’s definitely attracted to Hannibal, but he hasn’t been able to find the whole smelling people thing endearing yet.

“Did you find out if Dr. Chilton had any part in Gideon’s actions?” Will asks. The berries on his pancakes look like spilt blood. The blood of ripe, delicious fruits.

“I think Dr. Bloom would be pleased with my findings,” Hannibal replies.

Will wracks his brain for a reply. “Neato.”

“And so concludes the Case of the Curious Chesapeake Copycat.” Hannibal smirks, like he’s really proud of himself. Will feels like Hannibal’s been sitting on that alliteration for a while now. To be fair, English isn’t Hannibal’s first language, so he probably has to think harder with wordplay. He probably sat with his tablet, poring over a thesaurus until he found a clever combination that concisely communicated the events of the evening. In Will’s book, Hannibal gets an A for alliteration, and an A-triple-plus for effort.

 

Will puts down his knife and spork. “I really did have a reason for coming by,” he finally says.

Hannibal looks up from his box, expectant. There’s a smear of syrup in his stubble.

“I was worried about you. I shouldn’t have asked you to go out with Chilton.”

“It’s alright, Will. I’m an adult capable of making my own decisions.”

“Let me rephrase that.” Will swallows hard. “I didn’t want Chilton to be near you.”

Hannibal says nothing, but the question is in his eyes. Will pushes his mushy berries around on his pancakes.

“I mean, he’s kind of a creep. And his beard needs conditioning.” Will shoves chunks of berry-bloodied pancakes into his mouth and chews furiously.

Hannibal sets down his coffee. “Will, I think I may have done something regrettable.”

Oh god, Will thinks, please don’t say you did Chilton.

“Last night, after dinner, Dr. Chilton and I had some drinks,” Hannibal explains, gesturing at the champagne bottle on the tray, “He got rather carried away, and I could not in good conscience send him home until I was sure he’d be alright on his own.”

He glances at Will, who is quietly draining a flute of mimosa.

“I offered to put on a movie. He seemed,” Hannibal recounts with pursed lips, “rather excited, now that I recall. Does that mean something? I fear I’ve spent more time in the walls of academia than absorbing the nuances of local culture. Does ‘watching a movie’ have some sort of ulterior meaning?” Hannibal’s curiosity is intense, like when Abigail pestered Will to explain what the Pen 15 club was. No wonder they get along so well.

“Ah, well,” Will stammers, “some people interpret it as a coy invitation for sex.”

“That explains everything,” Hannibal frowns, like Alana does when . “I attributed it to the alcohol. But almost immediately after the movie started, Dr. Chilton-” Hannibal pauses, choosing his words as carefully as he balances pancake on spork. “Dr. Chilton made an advance upon me.”

Will’s visions come back, flashes of Hannibal on his knees, and Will feels lightheaded. Maybe he should have sipped that mimosa.

“I didn’t think much of it at first. He sat rather close to me, but I thought he was minding the thread count of the throw pillow covers when he did so.”

“Wait,” Will says, “minding the what?”

“The thread count. I use a variety of fabrics on my upholstery to suit every guest’s taste.”

Will tries to hang on to Hannibal’s lecture, but it’s been a long night, and his belly is full of pancakes and booze. This is usually when he curls up around the nearest dog (usually Winston, who was coincidentally the slowest dog) and had himself a nice food coma induced nap. Hannibal’s fairly monotonous voice would be perfect for bedtime stories. He could read his thesaurus. That would definitely put Will to sleep.

“And then Dr. Chilton told me he was very aroused.”

Will nearly flips over his empty pancake box when he snaps up to attention.

“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal seems concerned, though it’s a toss up whether for Will or his own safety.

“Yeah, sorry. I- the story just escalated really quickly.”

Hannibal does that duck lip thing, but it looks a bit like a smirk. “I’m glad to say it de-escalated rather quickly as well. I have a strict policy about knowing a potential partner’s history before pursuing relations.”

“Really?” Will blinks the drowsiness out of his eyes.

“Maybe I’m old-fashioned,” Hannibal says. “I don’t like spontaneity, not with intimacy. Romance is like a fine wine, Will. You can’t just jump in and gorge yourself. You may as well drink wine from a box like a boor.”

Will silently makes a note to bury his Franzia when he gets home.

“A master sommelier will take his time choosing the proper wine, making sure it remains in the optimal conditions until it’s ready for consumption. And when the time is right, he doesn’t simply smash open the bottle, does he?”

It takes a moment for Will to realize Hannibal is not being rhetorical. “Yeah, no, that’s rude.”

“Precisely,” Hannibal practically purrs. “He gently uncorks the bottle, delights in the fragrance that lingers in the cork, and takes a moment to appreciate the musk built up in the bottle. It’s a lovely moment, Will, when you anticipate tasting that which you’ve waited so long for. Anticipation is what makes wine and love-making such a wonderful experience.”

Hannibal manages to catch Will’s eyes, and in that brief moment, Will swears he sees a Mona Lisa smile pass over Hannibal’s face. Will feels his heart pounding, wracking his entire body.

Hannibal is talking about sex.

Hannibal is talking to Will about sex.

Will throws back another flute of mimosa.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal brings his face close to examine Will’s face. “You’re drinking rather heavily.”

“No, no,” Will mumbles, “this is normal for me.”

“You normally drink two cocktails in the morning?” Hannibal has his thoughtful duck-lip face on.

“No, I-” Will stutters, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? Do you need to lie down?” Hannibal leans closer with each question, intent on breaking into Will’s personal space with concern.

Will hesitates a moment. He should be used to all this attention. It’s not like this is his first time alone with Hannibal. But this is the first time they’ve talked anything other than work and Will’s mental state. And the first topic is sex. Okay, technically Chilton, but the important part was the sex part.

Hannibal’s so close, his breath caresses Will’s lips.

“Actually,” Will exhales softly, “I was thinking maybe we should watch a movie.”

 

“And then the hottest sex happened, right on Hannibal’s floor.” Beverly waggles her eyebrows while Price hums a ‘bow-chicka-wow-wow’ behind her.

“No,” Will says. “We just watched a movie. It was a documentary about ants.”

Price rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Way to get into the mood.”

“Graham Cracker!” Beverly huffs in disappointment.

“Well, we didn’t actually watch the movie,” Will says sheepishly.

“Bow chicka wow wow!” Zeller chimes in. “Way to get it, Graham Cracker!”

Will looks down and adjusts his glasses. “We fell both fell asleep.”

Price and Zeller look visibly hurt, like the time Will tripped on his shoelaces and knocked over the box of doughnuts Jack brought in for them.

“Did you talk to him about Chilton?” Beverly asks.

“Funny you mention that,” Will says. “Hannibal says they didn’t do anything. Although Chilton did spend a bit of time in Hannibal’s bathroom, until just before I got there. Must have had too much champagne.”

Confusion, mirth, and disgust all show across the S’mores’ faces.

“Chilton brought champagne?” Price asks.

“No way!” Beverly giggles.

Zeller wrinkles his nose. He looks like Winston when Poogle uses Winston’s tail as a doormat. “We were listening to Chilton jack it off? Not cool!”

Will frowns. “I used that bathroom after Chilton did.”

The S’mores quietly take a step back from Will.

“I suggested we watch a movie. I was a little worried, since I had just explained what ‘watching a movie’ sometimes means,” Will continues, undeterred by the distance between him and the others, “but he actually put a movie on. He gets me.”

“That’s good, because I’m not sure I do,” Price says with a low voice.

“It’s like we were made for each other,” Will says with a half-smile. “We cuddled on his sofa.”

“Without the sex?” Zeller raises his brows. “Cuddling without the sex is like eating pie with no filling. What’s the point?”

“The crust is the best part!” Will snaps back, and is pleased to hear Beverly and Price express like sentiments simultaneously.

 

“Shun! Shun the non-believer!” Beverly hisses at Zeller. She lets a thin, brown rubber band fly from her fingers. It sails over Zeller’s head and gets caught in a vent.

“Shun! Shun!” Price repeats in a wailing, high-pitched voice. He is using a large, packing rubber band as a slingshot, sending staples across the room.

Will’s managed to get stuck in the trenches, hiding between two desks with a binder on his head. Amidst the screeching and subsequent protesting, Alana manages to slip into the break room. She goes unnoticed until rubber bands are snapped across the room, and she’s caught in the crossfire.

“Ow!” She clutches her forehead. The S’mores stop in their shenanigans at her voice.

“Alana?” Will peeks from behind the upright binder doubling as a shield. “What are you doing here?”

“Jack said you’d be here.” She wrinkles her brow as if to make sure the stray rubber band didn’t take away her ability to show displeasure. “Am I interrupting something?” She looks back and forth between everyone. Will’s crouched behind a desk with a binder in front of his face. Beverly’s squatting stock-still on a stool that’s still slowly swiveling. Price is tucked in the cabinet under the sink, one door acting as a body shield. He still has a rubber band in his hands, cocked and ready to fly. Zeller is standing upright alongside the doorway, ready to snipe.

“No, not at all.” Will stands upright and sets the binder down. Alana nods at the door, and heads out ahead of Will. A rubber band whizzes past his ear as he follows her out.

 

“Have you talked to Hannibal recently?” Alana sounds anxious. Will hasn’t seen her so anxious since that time she had a pregnancy scare and was waiting for the drugstore kit to show its results.

Will can’t help but grin. “Not since Saturday, no.”

“You saw him on Saturday?”

“You could say I slept over his place,” Will says smugly.

Alana’s expression doesn’t change. “You what?”

Will feels a smile growing on his face. “I know, right?”

“So you heard about Dr. Chilton?”

“If you mean how he got burned, sure. I was there when it happened!” Will chuckles.

Alana presses her lips together. “Will, Dr. Chilton was assaulted Saturday morning. He was attacked from behind. He never saw it coming.”

Will’s mouth hangs open. “Oh god, I’m a horrible person.”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to Hannibal to see if he was okay,” Alana says, “so I thought I’d give you a head’s up first.”

“When’d it happen?”

“It was probably around six. There weren’t any witnesses." Alana's eyes dart about as she recalls details. "Police got a call a little after six-thirty about a man lying in the street. They found him unconscious. His hand was practically shattered, and he received some kind of blunt force trauma to his throat. His vocal chords are bruised, and he won’t be able to speak for some time.”

Will remembers wanting to do the same exact things to Chilton. Well, in Will’s mind, it was more of a backhand and a slap to the wrist, but he still feels bad, like he willed this to happen.

“Chilton must have seemed like an easy target. He was really drunk,” Will says. “Hannibal had to walk him out to the street.”

“The guy must have seen his chance when Hannibal left Dr. Chilton,” Alana murmurs. “I’m sorry for what happened to Chilton, but thank god it wasn’t you or Hannibal.”

Will nods. He knows that this was a random, unpredictable crime, and part of him feels bad for wondering if it’s not karma because Chilton really is kind of a douchebag.

 

A small smirk on Alana’s face breaks the somber mood. “So you spend the night at Hannibal’s?”

“Technically, it was only six hours, and it was in the morning.”

Alana raises her brows. She’s impressed, like the time Will refiled ten years’ of academic files in her office after he accidentally got a secondhand high when the FBI burnt down an illegal weed farm.

“Funny how that worked out, huh?” Alana says with a hum.

“It’s almost like a movie I saw,” Will says, “where the main character helps set his friend up, but then the date turns out to be total scum, and the main character and friend realize their feelings for each other.”

Alana laughs. “Will, we saw that one together.” There’s a shine in her eyes, the same glimmer as when she comes up with her twisted schemes. “Come on, I’ve got a few hours before I need to be back on campus. Tell me the sordid details over lunch.”

“There really aren’t any details,” Will starts.

Alana punches him on the shoulder, probably harder than either of them expected. “Don’t hold out on me, Will!”

Will winces. “Alana, you seriously think sordid things happen to me?”

“Of course,” she replies, “I mean, come on. Jack doesn’t call you Graham Cracker for nothing. Everyone wants a piece of you!”

“Um, I don’t think that’s the reason why he calls me that.”

“Sure it is! There’s a reason why you need three layers of graham crackers when you make s’mores.”

Will wrinkles his brow. “Alana, you only need two layers of graham crackers for s’mores. It’s like a sandwich”

“What are you talking about?” Alana laughs, hearty and full, like the time Will asked for a spot in the faculty parking lot on campus. “ It’s more structurally sound with more crackers!”

“Yeah, and I’m the perfect example of structurally sound.”

“You have one cracker, then the chocolate, then another cracker, then the marshmallow, and then the last one on top!” She gestures in the air, as if the food would materialize in front of them and prove her point.

“You’re weird,” Will says, “and that’s coming from me.”

“You did not!” Alana gasps, not in disbelief, but in laughter. “You’re buying me lunch for that!” She leads the way out before Will can protest.

“Alana,” Will starts, but hesitates. He doesn't know how to tell Alana that he feels much better about himself, and that he's not sure if he'd be feeling this way if it weren't for her. But he wants to say something, because it might be something she'd appreciate hearing, and it's something Will wants to tell her.

Alana can see it in the way he bites his lip and wrings his hands. “You’re welcome, Will.” No nonsense, straightforward. Good old Alana. “Come on, I found a great diner off the exit,” she adds without missing a beat.

“Oh. Wait. Do you mean the one that’s nearby a sketchy gas station?” Will asks, stopping short. “I think I may have made a scene there Friday night.”

“No way!” Alana punches Will again, this time dangerously close to his kidney. “I knew you were holding out on me!”

He rubs the spot, feeling a bruise forming. “Okay, okay. How does Mexican sound?” He hopes his choice of cuisine doesn’t offend Alana. Or excite her, as both are likely to cause pain.

“Gossip and chimichangas? Perfect!” Alana offers her arm to Will, who looks at it with reservation. He fully expects her to turn it into some kind of judo throw until she forces his arm through crooked elbow and leads them out.

“So, have you told Hannibal how you feel yet?”

“I can’t even look the man in the eyes,” Will sighs.

Alana grins with a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t worry about it, Graham Cracker. I’ve been reading this month's Cosmopolitan, and I have a plan...”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A. https://twitter.com/DRChilltown say hi to Dr. Chilton, i'm sure he can use the love  
> B. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-gIx7LXcQM this is Hannibal's ultimate date movie  
> C. How To Know If He’s Really Into You:
> 
> 10\. He looks at you when you’re not looking at him.  
> 9\. He gets flustered talking to you...  
> 8\. … and tries to act cool so you won’t think he’s weird.  
> 7\. He surprises you with a visit (and it’s not for sex).  
> 6\. He gets jealous when others spend more time with you than he does.  
> 5\. He talks about you non-stop to his friends.  
> 4\. He thinks you look good even in your frumpiest pajamas.  
> 3\. He cooks for you. (Bonus if it’s breakfast!)  
> 2\. He lets you save the day.  
> 1\. He’s not embarrassed to tell the world that he’s into you.


End file.
